


Dreams & Drabbles

by kittenintheden



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Related, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-06-03 06:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6600202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenintheden/pseuds/kittenintheden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My dumping ground for my one-shots and drabbles. Primarily SoMa, sometimes focused on other characters. Rated mature to be safe, but not all one-shots contain mature content. Total mixed bag -- sad, sweet, smutty, fluffy, angsty, cracky. AU and canon-verse. Smut is noted up top.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One at the Roller Rink

_**A/N:** The first SE fic I ever wrote. Oh, how far I have come._

* * *

 

He still wasn't sure how they had hooked him into this. There couldn't possibly be a less cool way to spend a Friday night. He pressed his back harder into the wall, deepening his slouch and scowling as terrible Top 40 remixes thrummed through the popcorn-and-sweat smelling air all around him.

A skating rink. A teeny-bopper, dumbass skating rink.

Okay, he lied. He knows exactly how he got hooked into this.

"Come on, they just started late-session Club Nights, so it's not like there will be little kids there," Maka had said, trying to yank him off the couch. "It'll be fun!"

"Are you kidding me right now? No fucking way."

She released his hand and folded her arms, shifting her weight and popping her hip out to one side while she looked down at him. "Everyone will be there. Tsubaki even talked Black Star into it."

He sank back into the cushion and trained his eyes on the Shark Week show he'd been watching. "Yeah? How she'd manage that?"

"There's a contest at the end. With prizes."

His eyes rolled skyward. Of course. "I'd rather watch this seal get ripped in half, to be honest."

"You've been watching seals getting eaten for the last hour." She kicked his feet off the coffee table. "It's not like you had plans tonight."

"I have plans! They involve sharks and blood and death until I fall asleep."

"Soul."

His gaze went to her immediately. She'd used _the tone_ , the one she used every time she called out for him to shift for a fight. It wasn't a request. It was an imperative.

"We're going out tonight." The spark in her eyes left no room for argument.

He slumped forward in defeat. "Does it have to be a skating rink?"

She smirked. "Yep. Get your jacket."

"Yeah, all right."

And now here he was, leaning against 1970s-style carpeted walls like a loser at a 10-year-old's birthday party. There were rope lights. And old-school arcade games. And a goddamn disco ball.

Kilik flopped against the wall next to him, one slice of pizza hanging out of his mouth and a second on the plate in his hand. He took a bite of the first and chewed, following Soul's moody gaze to the rink floor, where their classmates went around and around like hamsters in a cage.

"You bring me food, buddy?" Soul asked.

"In your dreams, man. Get your own. But seriously, I didn't expect to see you here tonight. Doesn't seem like your scene."

Soul slumped further into the popped collar of his leather jacket. "It's not. What're you doing here?"

He raised his slice of pizza. "Free slice with admission. I don't turn down free food."

"Is it still free if you had to pay to come in to eat it?"

"Free enough."

Another crappy pop song forced its way through the ancient sound system. A piercing "WATCH THIS!" cut through the music as Black Star speed skated backwards and did a backflip in the middle of the floor, nearly beaning someone right in the brain box with his skate. His cackles filled the room while Kid skated between Liz and Patty with ease, looking annoyed and trying to synchronize their movements.

Kalik swallowed his latest bite. "You gonna go skate?"

"There is no possible way in hell anything's going to get me out there."

Maka naturally chose that moment to skate up out of nowhere, catching her wheels on the edge of a rug and stumbling before righting herself. It never ceased to amaze him how she could be so graceful and still manage to trip over almost anything. She held up another pair of skates and he groaned.

She shook them at him with a grin. "You didn't think I was going to just let you stand here and sulk all night, did you?"

"I just agreed to play pool with Kilik. We're gonna go right now. Right?" He turned pleading eyes to the taller boy, who just laughed.

"Sorry, dude, I promised Ox the next game." He tossed his plate in a nearby trash can and walked off.

Soul bared his teeth at Kilik's retreating back. Traitor. He couldn't really blame him, though. Crossing Maka was bad for your health. Mostly the health of your skull.

"Here." She shoved the skates into his abdomen and he instinctively grabbed them. Then she squatted down and started untying his left shoe, her own skate-clad feet wobbling beneath her a little as she tried to keep her balance without winding up flat on her ass.

"Are you for real?" he said, trying to give a gentle kick to shake her off. Her hands gripped his ankle to keep his foot in place.

"You're taking forever. I'm just speeding things along."

She'd never leave him alone. Maybe if he did a couple of loops he could get away with hiding in the arcade for the rest of the night. He sighed and looked at the cracked, worn leather of the skates in his hands. The wheels were giant and orange and ridiculous.

"Are these even my size?" He checked. "Oh. They are."

"Of course they are." She put pressure on his shin so he'd lift his leg and she could take his shoe off. "You think I don't know your shoe size?"

Her face, which had been trained on his feet, raised to look up at him as she started undoing the knots of his other shoe. There was something about her looking up at him like that, crouched down, with those pigtails, so very close. It sent an unexpected wave of heat through him.

He nudged her away with his leg. "Fuck, cut it out, I can put on my own skates. You're not my mom."

She was so very not his mom.

Instinctively, he offered his hand so she could grab it and pull herself upright. She gripped it in both of hers as she got up, steadying her balance before letting go.

He picked up his discarded shoe and walked to a nearby bench so he could sit and get his skates on, grumbling all the while. "I could be watching the Magaladon special right now."

"You can't fool me," she said, balancing with a hand on his shoulder while he worked. "You can pretend to everyone else that you like to watch those shows for the guts and glory, but I know you're a secret nerd for shark facts."

He scoffed. "I think you're projecting."

"I don't even get it. You've seen that Great White in Jaws once, you've seen them all."

Annoyance snapped in his head like a rubber band and he tied his last knot way tighter than necessary. "They're not called Great Whites, they're just White Sharks, and they can dive down 600 feet and then swim to the surface at forty miles per hour to throw a 1200 pound sea lion up in the air like a rag doll and they can eat corroded metal without batting a goddamn eye which is mostly because they don't have eyelids but the point stands."

He fumed up at her only to find that she was giggling silently into the back of her hand.

"Shut up."

"Nerd," she laughed.

"They are the noble living fossils of the deep and they are VERY COOL, okay?"

"Okay."

This time, she offered her hand so he could get up. One foot immediately slipped out from under him and he had to grab the length of her arm to stay standing. These fuckers were trickier to control than he remembered them being ten years ago, which is the last time he had ever been in _roller skates are you serious_.

"You are the worst kind of person for making me do this," he growled at her.

"I know," she agreed, arm wrapped around his torso to keep him steady.

Black Star slammed into the waist-high wall in front of them, his breath coming out in a whoosh. He banged his hands against the wall in a furious drumbeat.

"Soul, come on dude, everyone in this place is killing me. I've lapped them all a million times already. They can't handle my unbelievable speed and skating prowess. I need a real challenge. Challenge me, bro. Do it!"

Tsubaki slid up beside him near the opening that marked the rink floor's entrance, gliding to a perfect stop. "He's not going to rest until he's beaten everyone, so the sooner you say yes, the better." With a soft smile, she reached her hand out to Maka.

Maka released Soul's ribs and let her friend pull her back onto the floor, stumbling just a little when she had to step up. He felt suddenly unsure on his own feet, a warm band around his chest where her arm had been holding him in place. But he wasn't about to show it.

This was probably a mistake.

He pointed directly at Black Star. "I challenge you to a race around the rink. Three laps. No tricks, no flips, no fancy footwork. Just pure speed. Think you can handle it?"

Black Star threw his arms in the air and whooped to the flashing lights on the ceiling. "CHALLENGE ACCEPTED."

Thankfully, Black Star was too distracted doing squats and stretches to notice Soul stumble in the exact same place Maka had before he made it onto the floor. He grabbed the wall and she and Tsubaki snickered next to him.

"Shutupyou'restillthefuckingworst," he muttered.

A minute later, he and Black Star we crouched in a runner's start position, ready to push off. As if sensing imminent disaster, the other skaters cleared a path, either by flattening themselves against the outer wall or leaving the floor entirely. A group of people sat in the middle of the rink to watch.

Shit. He felt a bead of sweat trail down his temple. Be cool. Maka caught his eye and gave him an encouraging thumbs up. A smile tugged at his mouth.

Tsubaki gave the countdown and they were off. He half expected to immediately catch his skate and go flying flat onto his face, but somehow, miraculously, he found his rhythm before it happened. Rocking back and forth, picking up speed. He even remembered how to turn. He'd known from the start that he'd had no shot against Black Star in a speed race, but he was holding his own pretty well.

In the end, he won on a technicality.

"We agreed... no... tricks." He panted, leaning up against the half-wall next to Maka and trying to keep his feet from going out from under him.

"That's a bullshit rule and you know it," Black Star said as he poked Soul with an accusatory finger. He was barely even winded. "You can't deny the people what they want, and what they want is to see me being awesome, as usual."

Soul managed a toothy grin. "Tsubaki?"

Tsubaki shrugged. "Sorry, Black Star. Those were the rules."

"Aaaaaargh fine, losers. Take your phony win. We all know I'm still the best."

"You're still the best," the rest of them chanted back at him. It was enough to appease him, and soon enough all the skaters were back on the floor, doing lazy loops to some ballad or another.

Maka dragged Soul back out onto the floor after he'd had a rest. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but it was kind of fun, in a completely pathetic way.

The DJ's voice crackled on over the music. "All right, young things, it's time to grab your partner for a couple's skate. Take someone's hand!"

He didn't even think about it beyond the word "partner." He just instinctively removed his hand from his pocket and reached out, expectant, because he knew she'd be there. When his brain finally caught up to the actual implication of a "couple's skate" he tried to take his hand back, but he was too late. Because she _was_ there. She was always there.

Maka's hand slid naturally into his, the most familiar feeling in his world. He chanced a glance at her to see... he didn't know, to see if she was blushing or some shit because she got the wrong idea. She wasn't. She just smiled and skated alongside him, matching her movements to his.

The main lights dimmed low, sending the disco ball's reflections scattering over the rink like broken glass. A familiar radio hit with very suggestive lyrics pumped through the air and Soul he felt like curling up a dying a little. He looked around to see who else was still on the floor. It looked like most of the pairs were meister-weapon. There were very few actual couples. He relaxed. Maka wrapped her other hand around his forearm, skating closer. It felt nice.

The song stopped and they slowed. He looked at her again and caught the disco ball's light dancing across her skin, her tank top, her legs.

He let go of her hand and pointed over his shoulder. "I'm gonna... go. Do the thing. Arcade. I saw Black Star."

"Okay. I'm going to keep skating." She punched him gently on the arm and went off for another circuit.

 _Free at last_ , he thought, ignoring the little thread still pulling him back to the floor. He found his shoes and removed the skates, turning them in at the rental desk before wandering around to find Black Star, who was, in fact, in the arcade.

He and Kid were battling it out over some old-school street fighting game. Kid would get too wrapped up in attempting to pull off the perfectly symmetrical combo while Black Star soundly pummeled him into the ground.

"Victorious again!" Black Star shouted, fists in the air. "You owe me nachos. I'll wait here."

Liz and Patty both tossed an arm around Kid's shoulders as he skulked off toward the Snack Bar.

"It's okay," Liz said. "I'll let you braid my hair if you want."

"Twin braids?" Kid said. "Perfectly symmetrical?"

"Sure."

Soul slumped into his usual wall-lean next to his friend.

"You up for a game?" Black Star said, taking a swig from his styrofoam cup.

"Nah, I don't think my ego could take another loss."

Black Star nodded sagely. "You have to be strong of character to go up against me, that's for sure."

They shot the shit until Kid returned with Black Star's nachos, which they all shared.

He wondered what Maka was up to. She'd been out there for a while. He lazily scanned the floor and found her leaning over the wall and talking to... someone. He couldn't tell who. A tall boy with dark hair and glasses. Maka's usual friendly smile played across her face and she laughed at something he said. He touched her arm.

Soul didn't even realize how deeply he'd been scowling until he turned his attention back to the group. They'd been chatting, but now they were all looking at him. He quickly rearranged his face into his usual mask of bored indifference. Liz and Patti smirked to one another while Kid tapped his chin.

"What?" Soul said.

"Nothing," the Thompson sisters said in unison.

" _What?_ "

Black Star clapped him on the shoulder. "You, my friend, need to get- _ow_." Tsubaki had smacked him upside the head. "- yourself a drink." He rubbed the impact site. "Jesus. I was gonna tell the guy he needs a drink."

Soul pointed at the large cup in his friend's hand. "You put booze in that?"

"Never leave for a night out without it."

Once he had confirmation, he snatched the cup and took several healthy swallows before the burning caught up with him. He drew it away from his mouth, sputtering and shoving it back at Black Star. Everything tasted hot and antiseptic and slightly of pine.

"What -" Cough. "The fucking -" Cough. "Hell is that?"

"Gin, I think." Black Star opened his nearby pack and pulled out a good-sized bottle of something. "Yep, gin."

"Straight gin?! Death almighty, I thought you poured a flask into your soda. Who the fuck drinks gin straight?" He wiped his tongue against the back of his hand.

"The great Black Star does. I have the tastes of a god. Go big or go home, bro."

Soul's stomach clenched, threatening to send the liquor straight back up, but he fought it down. His mouth still tasted like pine needles. He made a noise like "whaglahbruhglabluh" as he spit into the nearest trashcan and tried not to gag.

"Are you all right?" Tsubaki's voice sounded concerned and came from somewhere in the vicinity of his right shoulder.

"Blarghglbleargh," he responded, spitting again.

She came around to stand beside him, holding out a tin of mints, which he gratefully accepted. He popped two in his mouth. After a minute, they seared away the godawful aftertaste and settled his stomach.

The room was already starting to blur a little as he rejoined the group. Patty had a cup of her own and looked happy as a clam, sipping and kicking her feet from where she sat on a nearby table. Kid was leaning away from the bottle Black Star offered him, looking mildly offended.

"I'd rather not," he said. "I prefer to keep my faculties intact. Alcohol makes the world all... wibbly-wobbly."

Soul grinned and thought that description was pretty spot-on. Everything was certainly developing a tilt to it.

By the time Maka joined up with them a few minutes later, he was in a very good mood.

"Hi Maka. Hiiiiiiii Maka."

She looked him up and down. "Hi, Soul."

"My head's so heavy. Duzzit feel heavy to you?" He thunked his head down onto her shoulder. "S'heavy, right?"

She gently pushed him off. "Why do you smell like peppermint and Pine Sol?"

He cupped his hand over his nose and mouth and breathed heavily into it to smell his breath. "S'not that bad."

"Oh my gods, Black Star, did you give him something? You know what a lightweight he is!"

Black Star shrugged. "I wouldn't say I GAVE it to him, exactly."

"Hey! 'M not a lightweight!" He did his best to look affronted.

She rolled her eyes. "I know you're very concerned about your coolness factor here, but even I have a higher alcohol tolerance than you." She turned back to the group. "I think that makes it a night for us, guys. I'd better get him home."

"You guys aren't even going to stay to witness me annihilate the competition in the contest?" Black Star said.

Maka laughed. "You can give us the highlights tomorrow."

She hugged Tsubaki and they said their goodbyes. Soul wasn't feeling too broken up about leaving early. It'd been more fun than he expected, but he hadn't been kidding about the heaviness in his head. How did it even stay on his neck?

They'd walked to the rink from their apartment, so the way back wasn't too difficult. Soul kept lilting off to one side or the other and Maka either grabbed his sleeve or pushed him back onto the right path.

"Hey Maka," he asked when they were climbing the stairs, which took most of his concentration. "Who whuzzat guy you were talking to?"

She put her keys in the lock and pushed their door open. "Which guy?"

"The one at the rink. With the hair. And the shirt." He kicked his shoes off and let her help him get his jacket off.

She hung it up on the hook. "That's very specific."

"You knoooooow, the guy. He had glasses." Glasses was a funny word. It was hard to say.

"Just someone from my study group. He was telling me about the comedy show he went to see over the weekend." She searched Soul's face warily. "With his boyfriend."

He would not smile. He would not smile. "Oh. S'cool."

She sighed and helped guide him across the living room. He flopped back onto the couch, head lolling on his neck. She leaned down to adjust the cushions and he reached out to wrap one of her pigtails around his fingers.

"Y'look like somebody. From'n old movie."

"Uh huh," she said, disentangling his fingers from her hair.

He waved his hand over her ensemble. "What wuzza movie? She was dressed like you. Jus' like this." He titled his head to the side and inspected her, trying to clear the fog in his mind. It was a wisp of a scene, a girl in roller skates with blonde hair hanging past her shoulders.

Maka stood and walked to the kitchen to get down a glass. She stood on her tiptoes, reaching high.

The character's name was on the tip of his tongue and he tried to get it out. "Roll-something. Roll... chick. Rollgirl. Rollergirl!" He snapped his fingers. "Thazzit!"

She paused before filling the glass at the sink. Her head turned to him very slowly. "What?"

"Rollergirl! Y'know, the chick from that movie. What wuzzat movie? Black Star lent it to me once..." He squeezed his eyes shut. "There was that girl, and a guy, and it was in the 70's, and..." The scene came clear in his head and his eyes snapped open.

Maka was now leaning against the counter with a glass full of water, looking at him through narrowed eyes. "Yes, Soul? What movie is that?"

"Nothin'. Never mind. Can't remember."

"Are you sure?"

Instinctively, he curled his legs up in front of him on the couch, protecting vital organs. "Nope. Dunno."

"Because it sounded like you just compared me to Rollergirl from _Boogie Nights_."

He groaned and covered his head with both arms. "How d'you even know about that?" he said, his voice muffled.

"I know pop culture references, dummy."

"I dinnit mean... tha's not... you just LOOK like... cuz of the..." He groaned again as he felt her sink into the seat next to him. "Not th' face this time."

She put a hand on his arm and pulled, and he reluctantly came uncurled, expecting her fist at any second. Instead, she held out the glass of water to him.

"Drink," she commanded.

He blinked and took the glass, watching her warily as he took several pulls of water. She just leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, watching him.

"Why're you bein' so cool right now?" he asked.

"Because you're drunk and I'd rather not deal with your whiny ass asking me to make greasy food for your extra-large headache in the morning. Drink the whole thing."

He complied, and she automatically got up to get him another, which she also made him drink. She brought back a bowl of popcorn with glass number three.

"Whazzat for?" he asked, even as he grabbed a handful.

"We're going to watch your stupid shark shows until you fall asleep."

He smirked. He couldn't help it. "I don't need you to take care of me."

"You'd be lost without me," she said, snatching up the remote and flipping the TV on.

It was true, and he knew it, but he wasn't about to let her have the satisfaction of knowing. Instead, they ate popcorn and watched sharks swimming through deep blue until the heaviness in his head gave way to that special sort of sleepiness brought on by alcohol. His nodded onto his chest. Without really thinking about it, he moved the bowl from between them and laid down with his head in her lap. Her hand rested along his  jawline as she rubbed slow circles behind his ear with her thumb. He thought he'd probably start purring if he could.

He chuckled a little at the thought floating in the thick dark that comes just before sleep. Then he was gone.

Only his subconscious felt her shift out from beneath him, slipping a piano-patterned cushion under his head to replace her. She almost walked away, but on a sudden whim, she bent down and planted a soft kiss on his temple.

"Goodnight, you idiot."


	2. Bank Heist Gone Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fic. Maka's been planning this bank heist for weeks, and then things go very, very wrong.

Today's the day, and Crona is freaking out.

"I can't do it," they say, twining slender fingers into choppy pink hair. "I don't know how to handle this at all."

Maka places gentle hands on either side of her friend's face. "Do you want to go over the plan again? Will that make you feel better?"

Gray eyes meet green and Crona nods.

"I'm going to go inside," Maka says. "You just wait out here and don't move. When you hear the alarm, you look for me to come out right there." She points at an alleyway entrance up the road. "You coast up to meet me, I get in the car, and we leave. That's all. Okay?"

Crona's breathing calms, but their eyes still flit side to side. "It's never that easy. There's always more noise and yelling and bad, bad things. Ragnarok always made a scene."

"You're not with Ragnarok anymore, sweetheart. You're with me, and like I told you, after this, we'll be all paid up with enough left over to take us wherever we want to go." She smiles.

"You promise?"

"Pinky swear." Maka holds out her pinky and Crona reluctantly curls their own finger around hers with a shaky grin.

She glances at her watch. "It's time. Are you good?"

Crona sighs. "As long as you're with me, I think I'll be okay."

"I'll be with you." She leans in and presses a kiss to Crona's forehead before slipping out of the car.

The sun's laughing in the sky and the supplies strapped to her midsection are hot beneath the preppy vest and long-tailed coat she's got on, but it's all part of the plan. Just an unassuming young lady coming in to inquire about opening her first checking account. No one will remember her beyond a pair of pigtails and a schoolgirl skirt. Anyone who does recall her will probably describe her as fourteen to sixteen, not her actual age of twenty-three.

Thankfully, the air in the bank is dry and cool. Maka mostly keeps her eyes downcast, glancing around like she's not sure where to go. She waits in line with the others, fiddling with the deposit slips nearby, picking up a brochure about savings accounts. When a teller calls her to the window, she looks surprised and hurries forward.

"Um, hi," she says, voice too bright. "I just started over at the Deathbucks and got my first paycheck, and I need to, uh, deposit it, I guess? But I don't have an account yet."

"Sure, honey," the tall blonde teller says, popping her gum. "You need to see the man at the desk."

She looks over her shoulder and points, her face confused as she looks back to the teller. "That man?"

"Yeah,  the one chronically rearranging his paperclips. He'll get you all set up."

"Thanks," Maka chirps, sticking a tiny black box under the counter before heading for her new destination.

The man in question has a look of studious concentration on his face while he moves folders from one pile to another.

"Excuse me, Mr. Kidd?" she asks after a quick glance at his nametag.

He holds up a finger. "A moment." When his two stacks are perfectly aligned, he gestures for her to take a seat before neatly folding his hands on his desk. "How may I help you today?"

Maka smiles brightly and plops down into her chair. "I'd like to open my first checking account."

She asks all the right questions and looks confused in all the right places as the banker walks her through the process, lecturing her all the while on the importance of keeping her checkbook perfectly balanced. A glance at her watch tells her it's time to make her move.

"Thank you so much, this has been so helpful," she says. "I have one more question, though."

"Yes?" Mr. Kidd says.

"My father asked me to check out your safety deposit boxes since I was coming in today. He has some valuables he'd like to deposit. Any chance I could take a peek inside?"

The banker blinks at her. "Well, you're a little young, so we can't go inside, but I can take you back and explain how the process works. There are some printouts I can send home with you, as well."

"That's perfect!" she says. "Thank you sooooo much."

Mr. Kidd stands, straightens his suit lapels, and gestures for her to follow. She does, hands behind her back and vapid smile on her face. Together they walk down the hallway past the counter and turn a corner before stopping in front of a keypad. He explains the room's security features, and she nods enthusiastically.

Another look at her watch. Five seconds.

Right on cue, the alarm starts blaring. It's not the full alarm, just a malfunction. Enough to merit attention, but not bring the authorities in.

Her escort frowns. "I'm going to ask you to stay right here," he says. "I'll be back for you just as soon as I can."

"Okay!" She watches until he turns the corner, waits a few more seconds for good measure, and allows herself a smirk as she turns to the keypad to type in one of the codes she's been skimming over the last week. Easy-peasy.

Except the code doesn't work. She frowns and tries another. Big red X's across the display. For the first time, her heart kicks into gear. Something's wrong.

And then she hears a wild yell and a single gunshot.

"No," she says. "No no no no, are you kidding me."

Moving quickly, she slides around the corner and down the hall to peek into the entryway and her vision goes white-hot because there's an aggressively stupid masked bag of dicks standing on the table and waving a gun in the air. He has a friend standing on the floor near his feet, looking around furtively from the slit in his facemask.

"Heads up, peasants," says the idiot. "You've been graced by the presence of Star and Eater, and we demand offerings. Make with the cash money."

The second thief smashes a fist down into the first's foot, but he barely flinches.

Maka grits her teeth to keep her roar of frustration inside. This is why the codes didn't work -- the silent alarm's been triggered in addition to her distraction. These complete jackasses must've decided to make a move when they heard the bell. The little black box she planted earlier to trigger the first alarm should give her a few minutes of scrambled signal before the cops are notified, but either way, her timeline is screwed. She sends a silent prayer to whichever gods are listening that Crona's keeping it together.

The slim muscled fool with the gun nods to his companion. "Go on and get back there, man. We ain't got all day."

When the guy moves, Maka takes the opportunity to duck and roll behind the nearest desk and wait until he comes close enough to reach.

In one quick motion, she sweeps her leg and knocks the masked asshat down on his back before straddling him and pressing her taser to his ribs. For a few seconds, he struggles and tries to throw her off, but she pushes the prongs in harder and he stills, red eyes staring up at her through his ridiculous, predictable balaclava.

"Feel that?" she whispers. "That's 50,000 volts ready to arc across your chest. Don't even think about moving."

The other robber's voice is surprisingly rich as he growls at her. "You're not gonna fucking taze me while you're sitting on top of me. It'll get you, too."

"Go back to school and try again," she answers. "Darts send it straight into you. I'll be just fine, and if you pull anything, I'll sterilize you." To make her point, she shifts the taser down his torso until she hits the band of his jeans.

"Fine, fine, _fine,_ Christ almighty, stop," he hisses. "You part of the plainclothes Girl Scout department or some shit?"

"No, I'm part of the 'I've been casing this place for a damn month and you are screwing up all my hard work, you asshole,' division."

He laughs. "No fucking shit, you're the ringleader in charge of that overanxious kid in the car around the corner?"

Well, that's a surprise. He'd made Crona. Either he's better than she assumed, or Crona's completely losing their head. Either way, not good.

Her scarlet-eyed adversary gestures with one hand. "Look, Thighs Of Steel, how about we deal, huh? We'll let you in on the cut if you let us use your getaway driver."

Maka's about to tell him exactly where he can shove his "deal" when a manic shout echoes through the hall from the jerk with the gun. "Eater, the hell's taking you so long? I'm gettin' twitchy, man."

Even though she can't see his face, she can tell the man underneath her scowls by the way his face moves under his mask. "You're not gonna want him to find out you have me pinned. Trust me."

She grumbles and checks her watch. They only have a few minutes.

"What are you going for?" she asks. He just blinks at her, so she clarifies. "Vault or deposit boxes?"

"Boxes," he answers.

"Then here's what we're going to do." She leans down and whispers in the general vicinity of his ear.

Thirty seconds later, he's standing and her own taser is pressed to her throat.

"What the fuck, dude?" the thief called Star yells.

"Needed a hostage," he calls back. "Nobody do anything stupid or the little girl gets a seriously scrambled brain."

Her tears are practiced and convincing. "Please don't hurt me!"

While his friend waves the gun around to keep the masses in place, her unplanned partner in crime drags her back into the hallway. Once they're out of sight, she whirls on him and smacks him in the head, hard.

"Ow, the hell?" he says. She hits him again.

"That's for ruining my flawless plan, you inept assface. Move."

Together they round the corner and she's reaching underneath her shirt to tear her toolkit from her belly. She catches him glancing at her bare skin, and when he notices her noticing him, he clears his throat and shoulders off the backpack he has looped over one shoulder.

"I got this," he says as he pulls out a laptop and plugs it into the keypad. While he opens it and waits for it to come to life, he pushes his mask up over his face and she gets a good look at him. Shaggy white hair sticks out near his temples and at his forehead, and his red eyes are narrowed in concentration.

She glances at the screen and sees a red and black weapon slash across, two words sprawled beneath it. With a scoff, she stares daggers at the young man she'd think was handsome in any other context.

"Death Scythe?" she says. "We don't have time for video games."

The scythe fades from the screen and numbers roll across faster than she can read them.

"This isn't a video game," he says. "It's the next generation in security hackware. Wrote it myself. Quit being a harpy and let me do my thing."

She crosses her arms, feeling anxious and squashing the panicked bubbles in her gut. This is not how it was supposed to be. Surprises are never welcome.

"Nice touch with the costume contact lenses, by the way," she says to fill the silence and calm her nerves.

"Contacts?" he says distractedly. "Don't wear 'em."

She drops her arms and boggles. "That's your natural eye color? Are you made of stupidity? This place is packed with witnesses. Is this your first freaking job?"

His eyes shift away from her and his mouth twists down.

"Oh my god, it's your first job. That's phenomenal. Were you bored?"

He mumbles something. She thinks she catches the word "brother."

"Speak up."

"I said my brother is sick." His eyes flash angrily at her. "Our parents don't know and he wants to keep it that way."

Maka slaps her hand to her forehead, incredulous. "You absolute rank amateur. You never, ever do this with an emotional stake, not ever." She conveniently forgets to mention that her own emotional stake of getting herself and Crona the hell out of dodge is the exception to the rule.

It's at that moment that the door to the safety deposit boxes cracks open. Without another word, she shoves her way inside and makes a beeline directly for a row of three boxes that she knows contain cash and gold -- unmarked and easy to exchange. Her companion looks out of his element, spinning around the room with his laptop in one hand.

With an exasperated sigh, she points to another box. "That one. Do that one."

He follows her finger while she pulls out her toolkit and expertly opens her series of boxes in less than a minute with a combination of skeleton keys and skill. It pleases her that he's still struggling with his, but she takes pity on him and pops it open in an instant. Between them they empty the cash and easily pawned goods into their bags.

"Go get your friend and meet me at the end of the hall," she says. She should let them hang themselves, but he'd helped her, and not returning the favor would eat at her. He moves to leave and she yanks his jacket. "Put your mask back on."

"Right," he says, pulling it down over his face.

A few stray gunshots later, her two new accomplices are running down the hall toward her. She ignores the annoyed warbling of the first thief and leads the way to a janitor's closet and through an air vent. That takes them to the next floor, and the stairs there take them to the roof. After an argument and a series of shouted threats, the lot of them jump to the next roof over and clamor down the fire escape as sirens sound down the street.

Their feet hit the broken pavement of the alleyway and she whips off both of their masks, shoving them down the fronts of their respective pants while they squawk at her. She makes a frustrated half-howl to the buildings above as she realizes that she's with the two most easily identifiable jackasses she's ever seen.

When pounding footsteps start coming their way, she shoves the blue-haired menace calling himself "Star" behind a dumpster along with the bags.

No time to think. She grabs Eater and pulls him flush to her against the dirty bricks, lifting a leg to wrap around him, which he instinctively supports as she yanks his face down to hers. Maka barely has time to register his lips before someone pauses at the entrance of the alley. They continue to press into each other like they've been making out for an hour until the guy yells at them.

"You kids get out of here," the cop says.

They break apart and Maka gasps. "Omigosh please don't tell my mom."

The cop does a double take before pointing at Eater. "That girl better be eighteen, buddy." Then he's gone, more pressing matters at hand.

Her kissing partner breathes heavily and takes a reluctant step back before meeting her eyes. "You _are_ older than eighteen, right?"

Star shoves his way out of the garbage with a bag on either arm. "Can we get the fuck gone, or what?"

Maka peeks her head out of the alley, hoping against hope that Crona didn't panic. Relief washes over her as she spots the car and waves. Just like they'd always planned, the car coasts up toward them. Blue and red lights flash at the street corner while they cross the street and load inside.

"I didn't leave, even when the noise started," Crona says, blinking rapidly and white-knuckling the wheel. "Did I do okay?"

"You did great," Maka says, wrapping her friend in a hug.

Crona turns to the backseat to look at the newcomers. "Who are you?"

"More trouble than they're worth," Maka says. "Just drive, sweetie."

The sirens fade as Crona makes their way down the street, not too fast, not too slow. Maka doesn't allow herself to relax until they're several miles away. She strips off her coat and vest, replacing them with a t-shirt before she unties her hair and shakes it out over her shoulders. Every once in a while, she glances in the rearview and sees a pair of red eyes looking back. No one speaks. They'll figure everything out once they're at a safe house.

She picks at her lip, which still tastes like chapstick that isn't hers. The next time she looks in the mirror, he's smirking.


	3. Halloween Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween prompt. In which Soul is the world's worst vampire.

This was his night. He could feel it.

Red eyes and white hair shone in the dark as he watched, choosing his victim. The vermin were out in packs tonight, walking from street to street without ever suspecting their doom stood hidden in the shadow of a nearby building. It was like an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Razor teeth glinted as he pulled his lips back, scanning the crowds. Who would it be?

Ah, _there._ That one. A straggler, all by herself, without the protection of a pack. Her eyes were glued to a printout, her blonde pigtails bouncing as she walked. She wore a cheerleading uniform from a school he didn't recognize. Perfect. It was like acting from a script.

She paused just a few feet from him, frowning down at her paper.

"You lost?" he said, stepping out of the shadows for maximum coolness.

"I am, actually." She barely glanced at him. "Do you know where Boreal Street is?"

He kept his grin in check. Didn't want to frighten her too soon. That would come later.

"Sure." He tilted his head toward a side street. "I can take you, if you want. You probably shouldn't be walking alone."

"That'd be great. I appreciate it."

He started walking and she followed. This was too easy. When she fell into step beside him, he cast another glance at her, noting large green eyes, smooth skin, and a steadily pumping jugular. He licked his lip.

He'd gotten her a block and a half down a quiet street before she caught on.

"You're not taking me to Boreal, are you?"

"Nope," he said, herding her until she was up against a gnarled oak tree. "Sorry."

He grinned wide, waiting for the panicked breathing to start. Instead, she rolled her eyes and stomped down on his foot with the heel of her heavy combat boot.

"AH!" he yelled, jerking from the pain. She pushed past him and he managed to get her by the wrist.

She whirled back and aimed a right hook at his head, but this time he was ready. He blocked her, then blocked her again. They whirled around each other in a fighter's dance as she kicked out again and managed to land on his gut.

"I should know better," she yelled. "The creeps always come out on Halloween."

He caught her fist in his hand and blinked at her. "Halloween?"

"Yes, genius, Halloween. Let me go. I have a party to get to."

Oh no. Oh _shit._ Had he been so stupid? He'd picked Halloween night to try and get his first bite? He was never going to hear the end of it. Walking fucking cliché.

"Damn it," he said, releasing her. "I'm an idiot."

"You're just figuring this out now?"

He went back to the tree and started banging his head against it.

"What are you... oh my god," she said.

"Go away and leave me to wither," he groaned. His brother was going to laugh for a week.

She stood next to him, arms crossed. "You're a _vampire,_ aren't you? Like, a real one?"

He stood and hissed at her, baring his fangs and trying to maintain some semblance of decorum. She arched her eyebrow and he dropped his arms.

"Yes," he said.

"Were you going to bite me?" She lifted her fingers to her mouth to hide her smile.

"I'm definitely not going to do it _now._ Leave me alone."

Against all odds, she grabbed his hand and yanked him along. It took him several seconds to gather his wits and pull away.

"The actual fuck... I am a _creature of the night._ You do not _hold a creature of the night's hand._ Where are you taking me?"

She tapped her foot. "We're going to go find my party."

He sputtered. "I am not going to a human party. I come from the noble line of Evans, stretching back generations. My family tree is written in blood and-"

"It's Halloween and you're not going to bite anybody," she interrupted. "What else are you going to do?"

He rocked from foot to foot. "Skulk in the shadows?"

"Come on," she said, beckoning, and he found himself trailing behind her.

"I'm Maka, by the way," she said, yanking him forward by the jacket sleeve so he walked beside her. "And you are?"

"Soul," he said, the word falling from his lips without his permission.

She laughed. "Interesting name for a monster that's not supposed to have one."

"My sire has a strange sense of humor. What are you supposed to be dressed as, anyway? College co-ed?"

She dug into her bag and pulled out a wooden stake. He flinched away when she twirled it.

"Buffy the Vampire Slayer," she said.

He rolled his eyes. "Of course you are."


	4. Closet Handies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I didn't know you were in here" prompt. Rated M for, you guessed it, closet handies.

She was just getting to a really good part when a she heard a click and slam right before Soul burst into her hiding place and closed the door behind him.

Maka looked up from her spot on the floor of the tiny walk-in closet, penlight hanging from her mouth. He hadn't noticed her yet, which she thought was pretty unobservant, considering he was inside a closet and there was clearly a light on. His ear was pressed up against the door, his mouth twisted in a grimace.

"What are you doing?" she asked after dropping the light into her hand.

He jumped a mile and whirled on her. "Fuck!" he spat. "I didn't know you were in here."

"I'll ask again: what are you doing?"

"Hiding, obviously. Shhhh!" He leaned against the door again, listening intently. She could just make out muffled footsteps wandering the hall outside the bedroom door. There was a slow creak as someone opened it to check inside. Soul scrunched his eyes shut, then released a sigh of relief when the door closed and the footsteps receded.

He stepped over scattered shoes and sank down on the wall beside her. "What're you reading?"

"Ghost stories," she said, flipping the book closed and shining the light on the cover so he could see. "They're really good. Who are you hiding from?"

"Some underclassman who's been crawling all over me all night," he said. "I'm pretty sure her friends dared her to get a notch in her belt. She keeps going back over to them and giggling."

He stretched his legs out, which was about all he had room to do. Clothes hung on either side of them and the back wall was just wide enough for them to sit shoulder to shoulder.

"Why're you in here being a nerd?" he asked. "You like these things."

"Just needed a little time to recharge," she said, opening the book back to her place. "I was gonna go back out and make the rounds again after I finished this story."

He leaned over her to look at the etching of a woman with hollowed-out eye sockets. "Creepy."

"That's the point."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes until he nudged her with his leg.

"Can we just go home? This party sucks."

She sighed. "You think every party sucks."

"Only the ones where people I don't know expect me to talk to them."

Her book snapped shut and she was just about to lecture him on being a contributing member of society when footsteps pounded down the hall again. He covered her mouth with his hand.

It was a pair of them this time, the steps punctuated with giggles as the door opened and shut. The couple, whoever they were, spoke in low voices. They laughed and moved around each other, and there were noises that sounded suspiciously like...

"Oh no," she mumbled against Soul's hand. He shushed her.

The unmistakable sound of bedsprings squeaking made its way under the closet door.

"Oh no oh no oh no," she whispered.

"Shut up!" Soul hissed in her ear.

She tried to get up, keeping her voice low. "We have to go. We have to go now before they -"

A moan punctuated her words.

Soul covered his face with his hand. "Too late. Just... we'll just have to wait it out." He took her by the wrist and pulled her back to sitting between his legs. "Your book. Let's read your book and pretend this isn't happening."

"Who has sex at a stranger's house during a party?" she whisper-yelled.

"Okay, first, don't ever say 'sex' again, it's weird. Second, please please _please_ just open the book so I can distract myself."

"Can't you just -"

"Maka, I am serious as a kishin attack right now. Open. Book. Start. Reading." He put his hands over his ears.

She settled back against him with a huff and opened the book to the beginning of the story she'd been reading, running her finger along the page so he could keep up with her. When he finished, he'd nod into her shoulder and she'd turn the page.

The moans were getting louder, the squeaks of the mattress more rhythmic. Despite her very best intentions and frustrations with her own stupid, traitorous body, Maka felt sticky heat between her legs.

"You need to move," Soul said against her ear. "Now."

"There's nowhere to move. What if I knock something over?"

He tried to scoot back, but there wasn't anywhere for him to go. She felt something stir against her lower back.

"What is..." Realization dawned on her. " _Soul._ "

"I'm not doing it on purpose and I fucking warned you."

She was glad the penlight was the only source of light in the small room, because she could feel heat flooding her entire face, part outrage at his weakness and part shame at her own. Their souls were sparking against each other, registering the other's discomfort and embarrassment and arousal and ratcheting it higher.

Soul buried his face in her shoulder and muttered a constant string of "fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck" under his breath. "Will they just _finish,_ already."

The couple in question seemed to have every intention of taking their time, since the mattress sounds shifted to a slower pace to match their heavy breathing.

"We would get the one couple in the entire place that's not in it for a quickie," she grumbled.

"Stop saying sex stuff," he hissed. "Or I might die."

She could feel his tension and knew that he might have been exaggerating, but not by much.

"Oh for... here." She scooted forward as much as she could and twisted around, her hand going to his fly.

He made a squawking noise that thankfully aligned with a particularly ecstatic groan from the rutting couple outside. His hands reached down to stop her. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"I'm going to help," she said. "With my hands. Do you want me to stop?"

The discarded penlight on the floor cast just enough light that she could see his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat and that his pupils were so dilated they'd nearly turned his irises black. His chest rose and fell as he took several hitched breaths.

"N-no," he whispered.

"Okay then."

She made short work of his zipper and shifted to the side as much as she could, draping over his leg while she reached inside his pants. Resolutely, she stared at the ceiling as she drew him out and started pumping. It wasn't hard to figure out, and she tried to push aside her fascination with the way he felt in her hand -- hard muscle and soft skin. His breathing picked up and she risked a peek at his face to find his eyes squeezed shut and his sharp teeth digging into his bottom lip.

It only took about two minutes for him to slam one hand over his mouth to catch his cry and use his other to catch what she pulled out of him. She located her purse and dug out tissues, shoving a few at him and trying to quell the warmth that had spread over her entire body.

The couple was still going at it. She rested her forehead on her knees in frustration.

Soul had managed to clean himself up and return his breathing to normal, and now he hovered closer.

"Do you need... uh. Do you want me to... get you back?"

Another flood of stickiness washed between her legs.

"No," she squeaked. "I'm fine. I can handle it."

"I can feel how wound up you are. Let me help. You can close your eyes if it's easier."

She raised her head to look at him, the shadows in the closet doing strange things to his face. He looked calm. Maybe even... eager. The ball of tension in her lower belly was reaching the danger zone.

"Okay," she breathed, pushing him back by his chest until he was sitting again and straddling over him, lifted up on her knees. "Okay."

He searched her face, but she didn't close her eyes. So he swallowed and lifted her skirt until he could go over the front of her underwear, reaching until he was cupping her mound and his fingers found her folds. She watched his eyebrows twitch up in surprise.

"Holy shit," he said. "You're..."

"I know, just shut up and do the thing," she said.

And he did, moving his fingers and rolling the heel of his palm against her, and oh, it was nice. It was really, really nice. Almost without thinking, she rocked her hips into his hand, finding a rhythm that made the tension build up in a way that was riveting instead of frustrating.

She bit her own lip now and he went deeper, slowly slipping his middle finger inside her while he watched to make sure it was okay. He curled it forward and she let out her breath in a rush, shuddering into him.

A few minutes later, she was biting back her own cry, collapsing into his lap while he withdrew his hand.

"Better?" he asked.

"Better," she agreed, her muscles weak and uncooperative. She tilted her head up and kissed him full on the mouth before lolling back on his shoulder, watching his lips quirk up in a shocked half-smile. "Thanks."

They laid like that for several seconds before they realized the noise outside the door had stopped. Maka scrambled off him and managed to grab her book just before the closet door was thrown wide. She blinked into the sudden brightness, trying to make out the backlit figure.

"It's about fucking time," Soul growled. "Most uncomfortable half-hour of my..." His words faded away as they both recognized the silhouette in front of them.

Professor Stein leaned against the doorframe and turned the bolt in his head a few cranks. "Marie was quite embarrassed when she realized we had company, so I sent her on ahead. I suggest you two follow suit."

Maka didn't think either of them had ever moved so fast.

They decided to go straight home, after all.


	5. Catching the Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Evans Brothers one-shot, pre-canon. Wes and Soul make me feel feelings.

The early morning light shone sickly gray-green through the curtains in Wes' room as his kid brother shook him awake. He groaned and tried to snatch back the images fading from his mind -- music and pretty smiling mouths and something like freedom.

"Wes," Soul whispered in the half-dark, shaking his shoulder again. "C'mon, Wes."

Doting older brother though he was, Wes was still very tempted to swat Soul away and turn over. At least until he heard a tiny, barely-audible "please" escape past his brother's awkward teeth, the end of the word lisping through.

An pale blue eye cracked open to meet Soul's wine-dark gaze. "Wassup, kid?" Wes slurred. "Nightmare? Told you to stop snacking before bed."

Silvery white hair flopped across Soul's forehead as he shook his head. "No, it's... you're going to the train station soon, right?"

With a glance at the clock on the side table, Wes grunted. "If by 'soon' you mean 'two hours from now,' yeah. I would've woken you up to say 'bye before I left, you know that."

Soul sucked in his lip and bit down, then winced. The kid still occasionally forgot about his new set of teeth, which had come in fully a touch under two years ago. Weapon blood in the Evans line. Who would've thought. At least his speech therapy had gone well -- Soul didn't need more ways to be an outcast at the Academy.

"I need you to take me with you," Soul said, his voice blending into the lengthening shadows.

Wes sat up and really looked at his brother, letting his eyes adjust to the room's dimness. Soul was completely dressed in a black button-down, his school jacket, and the only pair of stylishly-torn designer jeans their mother would let him own. He shifted from foot to foot and fidgeted, his shoes squeaking against the hardwood. Two travel bags sat in and awkward pile next to him.

A lump rose in Wes' throat and he swallowed it back down. "Kiddo, no. You can't just... You can't stay with me at Julliard. That's not where you want to be."

Soul's brows furrowed, the first indication he felt something other than nerves. "I don't want to go with you to your school, I want to go to the train station. I'm going to the DWMA. There's a 7:15 train to Nevada. I bought a ticket last week."

Everything clicked into place and Wes felt his pulse pick up. Ever since the first time Soul had shifted for him, shown him the scythe blade that slid out of his skin, something in his brother had changed. He had a new light in his eye, something that hadn't been there since before he'd started daily piano lessons. Every time Wes came for a visit, he found Soul curled up in the window seat in the library, pamphlets about that weapon school scattered everywhere, face open and hungry as he read until he realized someone was watching.

Wes swung his feet over the side of the bed and planted firm hands on Soul's shoulders. "You just turned eleven. Don't you think you should give it a little while and make sure that's really what you want? Those people fight demons, Soul. Witches. You're a kid."

His brother pulled back, anger now plain on his face. "I am those people. I'm a weapon, and I want to learn how to control it. I want to know the reason why I'm... I'm..." he waved his hand over his teeth, his eyes, his hair. "... like this."

They were quiet for a long moment, staring across a divide that Wes swore didn't used to be there, but maybe it always was.

Soul took a deep breath. "I want to make friends that Mom and Dad didn't force to come to my birthday party."

"Everyone loves you," Wes offered weakly.

"You love me," Soul corrected with a surly glare. "And you're not here."

The not-quite-an-accusation slid past Wes' ribs like a hot knife and he sucked in his breath. Soul's face drooped back into its usual sullen passivity and he lowered his eyes.

"You know they won't let me go," he said. "And you know I can't stay here. I can't keep pretending to be like you."

Wes' hand twitched, aching to reach out and drag Soul back to his room, put him to bed like a toddler again, wait until their parents woke up and have a stern talk with them about considering DWMA for Soul in a few years before he caught his train. But Soul was right. They had a path set, just like they'd had one set for him. He happened to enjoy the journey, but he could plainly see that Soul wasn't so lucky. The kid's music reflected how much this life killed him at every turn.

And maybe the DWMA could give him a better one.

"Okay," Wes heard himself whisper. "Let me get my stuff."

Leaving the silent house felt like a betrayal. Wes pushed it to the back of his head and focused on the road ahead, shooting looks at Soul in the passenger seat where he bounced his leg and watched the sun come up. Their mother would have kittens. She'd yell at him over the phone while his father stood nearby gritting his jaw. They'd snap at the maid for weeks. They'd contemplate flying the jet out to Nevada and dragging him back.

But they never would. What would people say?

The station already bustled with early morning commuters and travelers. People checked the flashing itinerary and sipped bad coffee, muttering about their planned days. Soul sat and stared, so Wes went to get him some cookies for the trip. He lectured Soul and forced more spending money on him, reminding him to ask the conductor if he needed help and to remember to eat and make sure he knew his stop.

"I can come with you if you want," Wes said, casting a look at the ticket counter.

"No," Soul answered. "You have school. I can do it alone."

Wes would've argued, but really, Soul had been doing it alone for a while already. The guilt chewed his ribcage open.

When the call came, they walked to the platform together and made small talk. Nothing substantial. Nothing lasting.

Before boarding, Soul looked up and nodded, muttering, "Bye," before picking up his things and turning away. Wes reached out after him, demanding that his brain think up some sort of quote-worthy parting line, but he had nothing.

Seconds later, Soul stopped and swayed on his feet before dropping his bags and retracing his steps at a run, tackling Wes around the middle with a stifled sob. Wes went to his knees and hugged back as hard as he could.

"I'm not gonna come back," Soul warbled into Wes' collar. "No matter what happens. They let you change your name there, and I'm not going to be an Evans anymore."

Wes voice stayed miraculously even as he said, "Whoever you are after you get on that train, you're going to be a legend, kid. Everyone's going to know your name someday. I can feel it."

"I'm gonna miss you," Soul breathed.

"Same." Wes gently pushed Soul back and let him wipe his face on his sleeve. "You write me a letter when you get there, all right? If you never write me again, that's okay, but you let me know you got there safe."

"Okay," Soul said with a hiccup.

Wes patted the side of his face with a half smile. "I'll be thinking of you. All the time."

A few wiped tears and sniffles later, Soul waved from down the way before he boarded the train. Wes waited until he stuck his head out his compartment window, grinning and waving until the train pulled away.

He waited until the train pulled completely out of sight before letting his smile fall. Soul had his mask, and Wes had his own.


	6. Prohibition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prohibition-era prompt. Maka and fem!Kilik have an audition at The Green Mill in Chicago.

The Green Mill spun lazily overhead, casting its harlequin light over the building and recalling the streets of Paris. It shone brighter than Maka's eyes and she sheathed her sneer, careful to keep her face doe-sweet and smiling. Kili Rung nudged her with an elbow, cocking a brow above her black specs.

"You ready? We don't have all day to wait. The audition's calling." Kili ran a hand over her close-cut braids, her dark skin shifting with every turn of the infamous windmill atop the jazz club.

Maka pulled out her pocket mirror and checked her hair and lips for the fifth time in the last hour. She had to look the part.

"Hold tight," she said, snapping the compact shut. "We're not really angling for the job, anyhow."

"We still gotta sell it," Kili said with a shake of her head. "You know who else sings here? Billie Holy Pipes Holiday, that's who. She's the bar we're aiming for, and being late isn't gonna help. Come on, slowpoke."

Maka took a breath. "Now or never, I guess."

There was no line -- still too early in the evening for the main crowd to come out. The girls walked straight up to the doors, their heels clicking against the street. Maka did her level best to look innocent and more than a little vapid. She was a fresh young thing looking for her big break alongside her girlfriend, nothing more.

As they came up on the green double doors, a lithe arm barred their path. Maka followed the red-tipped nails across scarred knuckles and muscles working under smooth skin to find the arm attached to a tall blonde with a face full of secrets. From the shadows at the other side of the door, a second blonde emerged, this one shorter, younger, and even more foreboding despite her wide smile. It didn't take a sharp eye to figure them for sisters.

The shorter girl played with one of the tight curls in her bob as she tilted her head to the side and sized up Maka and Kili. "Hope you got the passcode, sugar and spice. The boss is real insistent about that lately."

"Patty, don't go scarin' the canaries," the other woman said, taking a drag of her cigarette. She didn't use a filter or a clip like ladies usually did, she just smoked it straight. "I'm sure they got it. Yeah, girls?"

Maka wanted to narrow her eyes and step up to the challenge. It took everything inside her to force nervousness over her features and look to Kili.

"Orange bitters," Kili answered without hesitation, crossing her arms with a bored sigh. "Pretty sure that's tonight's code."

Patty giggled. "Oh, I like them, sis. They're good." She winked at Maka. "You gotta work on keeping the fire outta your eyes, though. Dead giveaway."

The would-be singers tensed, certain their cover was blown to bits already, but the door guards remained relaxed and made no move to raise an alarm.

"You going to rat us out?" Maka said, dropping the act.

"Nah, don't worry none," the taller sister said. "I'm Liz, and you've met Patty. A little mockingbird sent word ahead. We been expecting you."

Mockingbird? The image of white streaks across a dark wing flitted through Maka's head, and the meaning was clear enough. Kid had managed to get news to their people on the inside. These two girls were unfamiliar to her, but that just meant they'd been under longer. Maybe they'd even originally been Capone's girls and flipped to the Spartoi Crew.

"We cool, then?" Kili let some of her own nerves through the cracks.

Liz nodded and took another drag of her cigarette. "Cool. Boss should be here inside an hour. You two find any trouble, you give a holler." She moved aside and popped open the door for them.

Just before they went inside, Patty put a hand on Maka's arm.

"Do me a favor, will ya?" she said. "You see a blue-haired buffoon in there, you grab him by the pec and you twist real hard, all right? Tell him he still owes me six dollars."

Despite her natural wariness, Maka couldn't help the smirk on her face. "I think I might be able to manage that."

"Good. And remember..." Patty put a finger to her lips. "Speak easy."

The inside of the club was smoky and several shades darker than the twilight outside. Maka blinked her eyes to adjust and followed close behind Kili, whose silver dress shone in the dimness like a lantern in fog. Scant regulars and henchmen milled about, bellying up to the bar or staking out usual tables. A big round table sat directly in front of the small stage, and it didn't need the permanently carved "reserved" sign to give off an aura of "sit here at your peril."

That was Capone's table. That's where she'd meet his eye for the first time.

As they squeaked past the bar on their way backstage, a flat palm connected with Maka's rear, hard, and she went stiff as a board. Kili's hand on her arm didn't stop her from turning to skewer the culprit with a sharp glare. The palm's owner grinned from the bar, his blue hair vivid in the low light.

"Nice assets," he said. "Can't wait to see them on stage."

Beside him, a young man with hair far too white for his age sipped on his bourbon and branch before he slid wine-dark eyes over to his friend. "Might want to apologize to the talent if you know what's good for you," he said.

The muscled fool held up his hands. "Fine, fine. My apologies, sweetness. Break a leg."

"Oh I plan on it," she said. She didn't say whose leg, or that she'd be paying back a favor for a new friend the first chance she got.

Once they'd managed to make it to the curtain without further incident, they ran headlong into a girl their age with hair pinker than an early-morning sunrise and a feather clip that was liable to cause injury if she kept whipping it around.

"Hell's bells," she spat, stooping to snatch her notes off the floor. "And you are?"

Maka pitched her voice as chirpy as she could manage. "Kili and Maka, here for the audition!"

"Fantastic, another couple of green girls looking for their name in lights," the stage manager said.

Another girl with a cascade of long dark hair hung down from a rafter, a smudge of grease beneath her eye. "Be nice to the new blood, Kim."

"Worry about your own blood, Jackie," Kim snarled. "That and the lights. Get."

The girl named Jackie shrugged and hauled herself back up to focus on one of the stage lights.

Kim glanced back at her papers. "Well, you're on the list, so at least there's that. We're going to have to come up with better stage names, but we can worry about that after you've proved you have a lick of talent. Go on up the steps and get ready. I'll let the accompanist know your selection. You'll perform right after the boss gets in, so look sharp."

Without waiting for a response, Kim sped off in a whirlwind of silk skirt and swishing feather.

Maka shot a glance back up to the rafters to see if Jackie was listening before she leaned in and admitted, "I'm nervous."

Kili shot her a big grin. "That's why you're backup. Just follow my lead."

"Not about that," Maka said, pitching her voice lower.

Her friend squeezed her hand. "Just reconnaissance tonight, kiddo. Don't forget."

"I know."

There wasn't much to prepare on stage. Jackie'd already set up a pair of silver microphones, so all they had to do was test them while she gave thumbs up or down from above. Maka warmed up her voice as best she could -- she'd never been very good at this sort of thing. A clink near her feet drew her eye and she met the gaze of the white-haired man from the bar. He'd set a glass at the edge of the stage. When she raised her eyebrow in question, he tapped his throat.

"Lemon tea with honey," he said. "Helps the pipes."

She stooped down to pick it up, never looking away. She noticed him noticing the way her legs bent before he looked back at her face. The hand in the pocket of his pinstriped suit twitched like he was tapping his leg.

"Thanks," she said.

He nodded and went to take a seat at the piano. So he was tonight's accompanist, then. Maka hid her smile behind her warm drink as she sipped.

In a flash, the low rumbles filling the room went dead still and she looked to the door, knowing what she'd find there. Al Capone himself strode inside with a door girl on each arm, followed by his crew. The blue-haired jerk from the bar peeled off to join them, earning a sharp kick from Patty, which he dodged out of what looked to be habit.

Maka stood and busied herself adjusting a microphone that needed no adjusting, feeling the familiar heat of old anger creeping up her neck. Five years ago, the man now taking his seat below her had ordered his goons to off her Papa, and her memory filled with white walls and stiff linens as she held his hand and helped nurse him back from the brink.

Papa had lived that day, but as she met Capone's gaze with a simpering grin that barely hid the venom behind it, she vowed that he wouldn't be so lucky.

But first, they had an audition to stumble through.

The lights went up and she saw stars, which thankfully blocked the mob boss from her view. She listened close for her cue, the distant sound of piano notes floating up to her. Kili took the lead effortlessly, slipping into the lyrics of "How Come You Do Me Like You Do" with a voice like rose petals and cherry wine. Maka couldn't compare, so she was happy enough filling in the backup vocals. It wasn't great, but it was passable, and with Kili stealing the show, they were sure to get the gig.

Not that it mattered. The gig was in four days, and with any luck, Capone's crew would be a smoldering ruin in three.

They bowed to scattered applause and hollers, hurrying off the stage and straight into Kim. She looked begrudgingly impressed.

"Not bad, girls. The boss gets the final say, of course, but I'd say you've got a shot. Now get." She flitted her hand at them and bustled off.

Maka grabbed Kili by the elbow and pulled her deeper backstage. "Now's our shot. Let's go."

They untangled themselves from the curtains and walked along the back, feeling the wall for cracks and crevices. Maka counted three hidden compartments and two storage chests when they came out into the dressing room hallway and ran smack into the piano player and the handsy jerk. The latter waggled his eyebrows at her.

She responded by twisting his pec so hard he doubled over.

"You dare assault a god?" he whined, peering up at her with one eye. "What gives?"

"That's from Patty," she said. "You owe her six dollars."

The man stood and opened his mouth, but he didn't have a chance to get a word in before she decked him in the jaw.

"And that's from me, you pig."

He worked his jaw and rubbed the place where she'd hit him, unfazed. "You done?"

"For now," she said, hand on her hip.

"Just playin' my part, woman," he shrugged. "The show must go on, you know."

The pianist shook his head. "You got some kind of death wish, Star."

"And you," she poked the other man in the pinstriped chest. "Shouldn't have given me that tea. You're not supposed to know me, Soul."

"No one knew a damn thing," Soul said grumpily, rubbing the spot where she'd jabbed him. "How'd this get turned around on me?"

Kili leaned in. "Hate to break up the reunion, but we've got a production room yet to find. You two had any luck yet?"

Black Star tilted his head back toward the hall. "Nothing solid, but we seen 'em rolling barrels out in the alley, so we suspect it's this way."

They all started down the hall when Maka felt Soul's hand on her arm. She looked back at him in question.

"I think there's something this way, too," he said, pulling her gently the other way.

"What?" Star said. "Since when do you-"

Kili was already yanking on the back of his collar. "Come on, genius. We'll cover more ground if we split up anyway."

Once they were out of earshot, Maka smirked over at Soul. "Another room?"

"Yes m'am. This room, in fact."

He opened the nearest dressing room door and pulled her inside, giving the space a quick glance for interlopers before pressing the length of his body flush to hers and leaning in for a kiss. She twined her fingers in his hair out of pure habit, pulling him in deeper and deeper still.

When they'd had their taste, he moved his mouth to her neck, the heat of his breath making goosebumps trail down her back.

"I hate this job," he whispered against her skin. "I hate being away from you. Remind me to smack Kid one when it's all over."

"I miss you, too," she sighed. "Three more days."

"Three more days," he agreed, his tongue tasting the dip in her throat. "Your vocals have gotten better."

She ran her hands over his shoulders, scratching at him through his jacket. "I practiced. Too bad you don't get to hear it again."

"I think I will," he said before going to his knees and running his fingers over her belly and hips to the hem of her short skirt, trailing kisses along the inside of her thigh.

Maka hitched her breath and waited for him to make her sing.


	7. Let's Get Wrecked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "Let's Get Wrecked" by honeyhoney. Rated M for sexy stuff.

The shitty club smells like spilt beer and stagnant manhood. Maka curls her lip while she leans against a wooden beam, shifting from foot to foot and feeling the soles of her boots stick to the floor. It'd sure be nice if they booked a gig in a bigger city soon. These low country holes in the wall make the skin between her shoulder blades itch.

A shock of blue pushes its way through the masses and her best friend and band mate shoves a glass at her.

"Your whiskey neat, you damn princess," Black Star says before taking a swig of his own pale beer. He points at her and backs away. "We're on in five, and don't make me wait for your ass. Rock gods don't wait."

"You ain't a god yet," she calls after him.

"I been a god the whole time," he says back.

Maka holds her glass up to the light and frowns at the smudge along the rim. Ah well. Can't be too prissy in a place like this. She turns it around and shoots her whiskey down, dropping the glass on a nearby table and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. It burns good. Jeers and kiss noises follow her as she weaves through the crowd, but they cut off quick after several stomped insoles and a sharp elbow to the ribs. She's got a fight in her tonight.

The stage is close to the ground, a small raised platform that'll barely contain them and their instruments once they're all in place, but it'll do. Tsubaki's got her long hair tied in a braid down her back and she tunes the banjo, warm eyes flicking to Maka with a shy smile. Star's testing the drums, though he leans forward to offer Maka a hand and yank her up.

She focuses on the mic, which is the only thing on the stage she ever gets to touch. Instruments are beyond her -- the only one she knows how to use is her voice, and only then because Tsubaki writes the lyrics and arranges the pieces for her. Once, she asked Black Star why he even wanted her in the band.

"Cuz you got a runty little schoolgirl thing about you, and if dudes don't like the music, they'll at least come to look at your ass in a skirt," he'd said.

Maka suspected that might be at least partway true, but she more suspected it was cuz he didn't want Tsu's ass to be the one on display.

She checks the mic, letting her voice pop through it and watching the sound guy until he gives her the thumbs up. The crowd is restless and unimpressed, so she scans, looking for someone decent to stare at among these unwashed backwater hicks.

There, at the bar. He sits at the end and looks right through her, eyes smoldering. That's the best word she can think of to describe that gaze -- red and flickering like embers. His hair's a shock of white, but he ain't older than her, at least not by much. Amid all the trucker hats and ratty tees, he sports a thin cotton button down, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and his undershirt peeking out through the unbuttoned collar. When he lifts his drink to his mouth, she gets a flash of sharp teeth.

Yeah, he'll do.

Black Star starts kicking a beat on the bass drum, and that's her cue. She widens her stance and drops one shoulder, using her opposite hand to wrap around the mic in a way that's more than a little suggestive. Licking along her bottom lip, she looks right at Bar Boy and waits for the guitar to come in.

[Whiskey makes her singing smoky](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tw0DVp71zAU) and she watches it float through the crowd, enjoying the range of surprised looks she gets. Like always, a group hovers closer, staring up at her like she's a backlit angel.

They may still be playing dives, but they sure as hell don't suck.

On song number three, her eyes raise up to find her muse, and the way he's looking at her now makes her insides swirl real pleasant. His drink's on the bar and he's leaning forward with elbows on his knees, completely intent.

Maybe it's not a fight she's got in her tonight after all.

They finish out their set strong, the crowd hollering as they wrap. When she hops down to the floor, she's immediately cornered by several admirers, some genuinely complimentary and others hoping she compliments them in a Biblical way. She makes pleasantries and keeps her eye out, but he never comes over, so she goes to him.

He's still sitting at the corner of the bar pretending he doesn't see her approach, but she catches the flick of his eye. When she slides close next to him, he signals the bartender with a finger, still nursing his own drink.

"Whiskey neat for this lady," he says, tilting his head her way. "She put on a good show."

"Make it a shot," she calls after the bartender.

Bar Boy looks at her sidelong, raising an eyebrow.

"I ain't in the mood to sip anything." She leans against the wood, pushing up what little cleavage she's got. Not her strongest asset, but at least she knows how to work with it these days. Either way, he notices and acts like he doesn't.

"You guys got talent," he says. "What're you doin' here?"

The barkeep sets a shot glass in front of her and pours. "I dunno," she says as she runs her fingers over her drink. "What're you?"

"I come for the entertainment." He looses a sly grin at her, the dog. The pretty-faced dog.

"Hm." She laughs and takes her shot, letting it sting over her vocal chords. Her thumbnail scrapes over her lip before she flips the shot glass upside down and sets it on the bar. "Thanks for the shot."

He tilts his head back and finishes his own drink, digging his wallet out and throwing some cash down.

Before he can finish turning to her, before he can say anything else, she grabs a fistful of his shirt.

"You're comin' for the entertainment, all right," she says.

His surprise is short-lived and he follows right along as she dodges people and ignores Black Star's holler. They duck into the hall away from the brighter lights and she slams him against a wall, pressing her lips over his and finding him more than accommodating. His tongue tastes like liquor and his teeth are something else. People pass them by and they ignore every last one.

It doesn't take long for him to twine his fingers in her hair and flip them around so her back's the one to the wall. He molds himself to her, hand tracing down her side. When he gets to her hip, she obligingly lifts her thigh and he grabs it, helping her hook it around his leg. He leaves her mouth and goes to her neck while she digs her nails into the cloth over his shoulder blades, eyelids fluttering.

When he gets bold enough to palm her right tit, she nips at his ear and he jerks.

"You got protection on you?" she says, just before she licks him.

She feels him shudder down into her even as his growing problem twitches against her leg. He shakes his head. No.

"Well fuck," she says, pushing him back until she can take his hand and lead him further down the hall.

"Sorry," he pants. "Wasn't exactly expecting this."

She just smirks back at him in the barely-there light before pushing into the men's bathroom. Another dude slumped at the urinal glances over and starts when he sees them.

"Hey!" he says.

"Not interested," she replies, searching the wall until she finds what she's looking for. Without missing a beat, she pulls over her gaping makeout buddy and digs into his pocket. He hisses as she brushes against his hard-on. When she withdraws her hand, she holds a quarter.

"At least you got one of these." She smiles up at him and he gives her a half-grin back.

She pops the coin into the vending machine, twists, and grabs the little package that drops out, pulling her new puppy dog back into the hall with her. They find another wall, then the opposite wall, then the first wall again, groping and kissing any and all available skin. Finally, she locates the door she's looking for and they tumble into the back room where the club owner let them dump their instrument cases. She flips on the dim, bare lightbulb and he kicks the door shut.

He grabs her by the waist and lifts her onto a folding table, which is thankfully sturdy enough not to wobble too bad. They're kissing like they may never kiss again while she reaches under his shirt to scrape her nails along his stomach. He groans into her and digs under her skirt, finding her underwear and dragging them down over thighs, knees, ankles.

"Just so you know," he sighs. "I ain't never done this before."

"Never screwed a girl you known all of thirty minutes, or never screwed at all?"

"The first thing."

"Good," she says, yanking him down and sinking her teeth into his neck. "I ain't interested in breaking someone in. Keep up."

"Yes'm."

She runs her hand down his arm until she can press her palm to his, then brings it up for inspection. He has nice hands. Her eyes lift to meet his, and while he watches, she takes his middle finger into her mouth and sucks on it hard. His knees buckle.

"How're you with these fingers?" she asks.

One wide grin later, he's playing her like a fiddle, digits dancing over all her most sensitive places. That same middle finger, along with the first, slide into her easily and she clenches them tight, arching and mewling. He's smart with his thumb, testing her sensitivity and opting for circles around her clit instead of direct pressure.

Before long, she leans forward, cupping a hand along the bulge in his pants and practically snarling. He gets the picture, and she helps him with his belt buckle. In short order, he's free of his pants, and she has just enough time to note that all's well in dickland before he's tearing open that bar bathroom condom and rolling it on.

They press together, sliding and gasping, getting used to pressing up close. Without warning, he dips his head and places a kiss on her mouth, more tender than anything they've done so far. It sends a different sort of heat straight down her chest and into her core. Then they're all lined up proper and he pushes his length inside with such practiced ease that it's like putting on a glove when their hips meet.

He curves his body into hers and looses a growl so feral and raw that for a quarter second she thinks she's gone and picked herself a one-hump chump. Thankfully, he lifts his head and grins at her like a wolf, points of his teeth shining in the low light. He leans down and licks up her neck to her ear.  
  
"Shit, girl, you feel real good."

She shivers and knows she picked well. Her hands go to his shoulders and his go to her hips and they're off to the races, rocking and rolling and panting and moaning.

It's fast, and it's good, and she feels the first inklings of sensitive tension pulling tight between her legs. He's climbing quick, too, and he starts calling out, his voice muffled by the steady music still playing outside.

"Oh Christ," he says. "Mary Mother of God, save me."

"Maka," she cries.

He makes a confused noise in the back of his throat and she whimpers closer to his ear. "My name. You wanna yell out for savin', you yell for me. Maka."

"Maka," he obliges. "Fuckin' hell, Maka."

Hearing her name ground out like that from this beautiful, strange, completely fuckable man makes everything go haywire. She throws her head back, howling her pleasure, and his fingers are back on her clit, shoving her all the way over the edge. A few thrusts later he follows, calling her name as he peaks and tipping into her mouth for a coital kiss.

When they've both ridden it out, she lifts one hand to cup his jaw. The kiss goes from carnal to sweet, rough to gentle. Her legs are still locked behind his thighs and she uses them to draw him closer. They pull apart, barely, and look one another in the face.

The moment stretches until she says, "You got a name?"

"Soul," he tells her. It's a strange name, but somehow fitting, she thinks.

"You play any instruments, Soul?"

He smiles, a little sadly. "Piano."

"You wanna be in a band?"


	8. Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Dragons prompt during SoMa Week 2015

In a glade of green ribboned with a snow-cold stream, a runaway dragon met a headstrong kirin.

The dragon's name was Soul, and he was sulky and proud, hiding a dark pain beneath scales that shone white and eyes that glowed red. His clan looked through him as though his hide were made of crystal, so he took to the skies as a pup and didn't look back. Still, he was lonely.

The kirin was called Maka, and she was all fawn fur, emerald-edged scale, sharp horn, and sharper wit. Her dam left her very young, and her sire loved her dearly, but could not tame his wandering eye. Their betrayal split a furrow in her heart that she filled by sparring against her foster siblings and learning as much and as often as she could.

On the day in question, Soul sprawled across a wide branch at the edge of the glade, his tongue lolling as he napped. He'd long ago learned not to snore after a run-in with an arrogant young knight and his overexcited talking sword, which was exactly why Maka didn't notice him when she entered the glade on feather-light hoofs. Her foster brother Black Star had left her with a bruised shoulder to match her bruised ego, and she hoped to hide herself away until she'd pieced her pride back together.

As she rustled through the underbrush, grumbling to herself, Soul cracked open a lazy eye. When he saw another creature nearby, he held his fiery breath -- he never knew if another beast was friend or foe. Still, something about the kirin's stomping feet and foul temper contrasted so sharply with her delicate features that he couldn't help but raise his spiked head and pay attention.

Maka reached the cold spring water and shed her skin, letting it shimmer away into smoke and stardust as she kneeled down. When the magic cleared away, a young woman with fawn-colored hair and a plain white dress sat on her knees by the stream, still growling lowly under her breath as she scooped up a handful of water to apply to the scrape on her shoulder.

Nearly without thinking, Soul shifted into his own humanoid form, claws becoming delicate musician's fingers and spikes softening into uncontrollable white hair. He hung from his branch for a moment before letting go and landing silently on the balls of his feet. The girl didn't notice her company, so intent was she on hissing colorful obscenities at the nearby reeds. Soul's mouth ticked up in a smile, the points of his razor teeth showing through. He crept closer.

Despite her human appearance, Maka's ears remained sensitive and deerlike, and they twisted back when Soul came too close. In an instant, she whirled, green eyes flashing, and pounced. Her target went down with a yelp, blinking up at her as she straddled his chest and held her diamond-sharp nails to his throat. He snapped at her on instinct and she pressed her nails harder to his flesh.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"Who are you?" he mocked, sounding braver than he felt.

Her face flushed. "Oh, I see, you're a fool. You'd have to be to try and sneak up on me. I should kill you right here."

"A scrawny bit like you?" Soul wriggled beneath her, unable to break free. "Like to see you try."

A firm blow to the head and decent scuffle later, Soul nursed a split lip and glared from the other side of the stream.

"You didn't have to make me bleed," he said.

"You didn't have to be a creep," she retorted.

They didn't say much else that day, but Maka returned to the glade every day for a week, and Soul tried to catch her off guard each time.

It started small, that seed of youthful friendship, and it wasn't long before it took root. Soul's loneliness lessened like a slaked thirst, and Maka had a confidant to turn to when her father became overbearing and her brother grating.

The sky couldn't contain them. Many nights, the air split with their laughter as they flew, racing and weaving about each other against the star-dusted night. Even the moon couldn't take her eyes from them. A passing human might say they were like a story or a painting, but they were nothing so static and immutable. The pooled each other in equal combinations of light and dark, each full of pain and love and life.

Immortal youth is a tricky thing, and Soul and Maka had nearly a century of journeys together before they turned onto an unexpected path. It wasn't sudden -- nothing about dragons ever is -- but it did take them by surprise when they realized the warm blush spreading in their chests was more than the rush of adventure. Their souls spoke to one another, though each pretended it was nothing but wind.

One day they woke at sunrise, cracking their joints against the warm rock where they'd curled up for the night. Soul chanced a glance in time to see Maka shift into human form and stretch her arms high, her back arching in the pinkish-orange morning light, and he felt very glad his cheek scales couldn't color like his human skin could.

Their chosen journeys became quests, their childhood antics turning into protective missions to keep the world a little safer, to keep magic ever-bright. Everything changed around them even as they changed to each other.

There came a time when their human forms no longer held any of the awkward angles of youth, but the lines and curves of adulthood. As far as immortals went, they were barely out of adolescence, yet old enough to know all the things they'd ignored before.

After they'd fought a great evil and suffered injury and loss, they returned to the little glade where they'd first met, sitting by the frozen stream to clean one another's wounds. Soul wiped a cut over Maka's eye with a cloth and she stilled his fingers, their breath misting together in the frigid air. Time would last on and on for them, but perhaps not forever.

So they came together, lips on lips, and warmed the winter glade that had once been full of spring, and soon would be again.


	9. I Read Sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maka comes home from practice early and Soul's acting really cagey about the book she caught him reading. Rated M for sexy stuff.

Maka would have stayed another hour for additional meister training, but Sid practically booted her out.

"I don't let my meisters practice injured," he said. "That's not the kind of man I was."

She had huffed. "Come on, it's just a sore shoulder."

"It's a _dislocated_ shoulder," the zombie said, arms crossed and face unmoving.

"Not anymore," she argued.

He pointed a bluish finger at the door. "Go home, Albarn. Come back next week."

So here she is, climbing the steps to her and Soul's apartment and grumbling to herself about the infernal undead. She tries the door, finds it unlocked, and pushes her way inside with a grunt.

Soul practically levitates off the couch, looking up at her with wide eyes, his thumb frozen where it plucks at his lip. That's her first hint that something's off. When he looks anything but sleepy or bored to death, there's mischief afoot.

"Whatthehellareyoudoinghome," he says, the words tumbling together as they rush to escape his mouth.

She narrows her eyes in suspicion. "Sid kicked me out of practice."

It's then that she spots the thing that's wrong with this picture.

"Are you... reading a book?" she asks. "For fun?"

"No," he lies, shoving the paperback down between the couch cushions. His expression is akin to the one he wears when he knows he's fucked up and he knows she's about to find out he's fucked up. Nervous. Apprehensive. Searching for escape.

That settles it.

"What's the book?" she says, approaching the couch.

"There's no book."

She stands in front of him, hands on hips, and he shifts slightly so he's sitting over the crack in the cushions. He folds his arms and glowers up at her, but the effect is somewhat spoiled by his eye twitch.

"What's the book, Soul?"

When he doesn't answer, she makes her move, crawling over him and tickling the weak spot just above his hip in an attempt to get him to jerk away. He yelps and struggles with her, trying to shove her off, buck her off, whatever he can manage. They grapple and tangle until he ends up on his back with her on top of him. She hisses when he bumps her hurt shoulder and he growls at her but avoids knocking it again.

"What is it?" she says, digging at his ribs.

"It's none of your business!" he roars.

"Why are you being so shifty?"

"Cut it out!"

"I think it's good that you're expressing literary interests."

"MAKA."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed ab- HA!"

She manages to reach underneath him and grasp the spine of the book, whipping it out. There's barely enough time for her to register the halved papaya on the cover before he snatches it away from her, holding it at arm's length, which is annoying because his arms are a lot longer than they used to be and now he's holding the back of her shirt with his other hand so she can't reach far enough.

"Is it a cookbook?" she says, grasping with her fingers.

He's making panicky noises in the back of his throat and finally decides to go for broke and roll them both off the couch. He lands on top of her and she's winded, so he takes the opportunity to scramble away. If he's hoping she'll give up, his reaction is having the exact opposite effect. Now she _must_ know what this book is about.

Soul makes a break for his room, but she's already there, blocking his path and giving him her hunter's smile. He gulps, because he knows he's prey and she's about to go for the kill.

One high speed chase around the apartment later and they're rolling around on the floor near the window. Looks like she's getting a workout in, after all. She twists her hips and pins him with a leg on either side of his chest, triumphantly hugging the book against her stomach.

"I really don't get what the big deal is," she pants as she looks down at it again.

Before she can read the title, he grabs it and hurls it out the open window, watching it as it goes. They both listen to the distant sound of a garbage can lid clattering and a cat yowling.

"Well that was uncalled for," she says, breathing heavily as she glances at him. Her smile falters when she sees the look on his face.

His chest rises and falls beneath her, his expression more open than he usually allows. She doesn't recognize the emotion there, the dilated pupils and slight flush. It's only there for an instant, and then his face darkens and turns to familiar annoyance as he shoves her off of him.

"Couldn't just leave it alone," he says.

For the first time, she realizes that maybe _she's_ the one who just fucked up. He stands.

"Sorry," she says. "I didn't think-"

"No, you didn't think," he says with a glare. "I don't have to tell you everything."

His shields are going up. Maka can practically hear them clanging into place.

"You're right," she says. "I didn't realize it was... I'm sorry."

"Whatever," he grumbles, rubbing his fingers through his hair as he walks away. "Call me when dinner's ready."

Seconds later, his bedroom door slams and she winces. Then she groans and leans her face into her palms. So stupid. Her partner is so private. He was clearly reading something personal, and she'd taken it as a challenge instead of letting him have his space. What a jerk move.

In an attempt at apology, she's searching their takeout drawer for the menu to his favorite Thai place when the rattle of the doorknob indicates their other roommate is home.

"Hey Blair," she says to the buxom catwoman. "Do you know where the menu for _Lemongrass_ is?"

"No, sorry," Blair sing-songs. "But I did bring you a present!"

"Really?" Maka comes out of the kitchen, curious.

"Nya, see, a book!" Blair holds out a slightly stained paperback. "The kitties who live in the alley say someone threw it at them, tsk. Blair knows how much you like books, so she offered to take it off their paws."

A lump rises in Maka's throat as she takes the book and recognizes the papaya on the cover. She shouldn't look. _She shouldn't look._ She's already been enough of a dick tonight.

But it's a book and it's _Soul's_ book and she can't help it.

" _She Comes First,_ " she reads. That's a weird title. Is this a... self-help book?

Then she reads the subtitle: _The Thinking Man's Guide to Pleasuring a Woman._

She drops the book like it's made of bees. Gaping, flabbergasted, confused bees. Bees who definitely should not have read the title of the stupid thing. Oh gods, that halved papaya is _staring_ at her from the floor and now the context of it has _completely changed._

"You don't like it?" Blair says with a pout.

"It's fine," she says, stooping to pick it up and feeling like a creep as she does. "It's great. I have to go ask Soul what he wants to order for dinner. Fish for you?"

"Yes yes yes," Blair says, clapping her hands.

"Super."

Maka beats a hasty exit for the hallway. There's nothing but air in her head. It feels like it's going to float away, which might not be a bad thing because _what._ She can't stop herself from flipping the dog-eared book over to read the back cover and catches the words "best guide to oral sex" before she presses a fist to her mouth to make sure the weird noises trying to force their way out stay inside.

Without warning, she starts to feel the tiniest bit sick. If Soul's reading a book about _this,_ it must mean that he's thinking about doing _this._ With who? A sea of girls' faces swim before her eyes, a veritable tidal wave of names written in cursive with a swirl on letters in his locker. Girls who aren't her.

She takes a deep breath and clenches her eyes shut. That's not fair. He's her partner, not her boyfriend. There's a difference. She wasn't even supposed to know about this, but now she can't pretend she doesn't know, unexpectedly painful as it is. There's nothing for it. He's already mad, anyway, so she might as well rip this one off like a band-aid.

With a sigh, she trudges down the hall and knocks on his door.

"I know dinner's not ready yet," he calls.

"Can I come in?" she asks.

There's a grunt, which she knows is his way of agreeing without really agreeing so he doesn't have to admit he gave in. She pushes her way inside and finds him sprawled on his bed, eyes closed and one headphone over his ear. One of his legs is bent at the knee and a little bowed out, and the combination of him laying like that and the book in her hand makes her chest burn. It makes other things burn, too, but she doesn't want to think about that right now.

"We're getting takeout, aren't we?" he asks, cracking an eye open.

"Yeah." She looks away from his face and rubs her arm. "You want your usual from the Thai place?"

"That's why it's called a usual," he drawls.

Setting her mouth in a line, she moves closer and tosses the book at him. "Blair found this and brought it up."

He catches it and she risks a glance at him in time to see the sides of his face close to his jaw go splotchy red. Neither of them speaks or meets the other's eye.

Maka stares at the ceiling. "I'll go order." Before she closes the door, she turns back and adds, "Whoever she is, she's lucky that you care enough to, you know. Research."

As she walks away from his room, she hears him groaning and swearing at himself.

Blair tilts her head to the side as Maka trudges back out again while rubbing the space between her eyes, which aches all of a sudden.

"What does Soul want to eat?" the cat asks.

Maka snorts at the unintended implication. "His usual. I just want some tom yum soup, I think. Would you mind ordering and picking up? I'm sorry, my head hurts."

"No problem," Blair says. "You want a potion?"

"Nah, I'll be fine. Thanks."

While the cat whips out her cellphone and looks up the restaurant's number, Maka closes her bedroom door behind her and faceplants on her own bed, twisting her fingers into the sheets. Why does she feel this sudden overheated desire to cry and touch herself at the same time? It's weird and she really, really doesn't like it. A few minutes later, she hears the front door close as Blair leaves. A minute after that, there's a quiet knock at her door.

"Can I come in?" Soul says, his voice soft and mumbling.

She uses his own signature grunt on him and doesn't move as her door slides open across the plush purple rug on her floor. It clicks shut behind him and she turns her head to look. He's staring at something on her desk and the red splotches are still peppering his jaw.

"About the... thing," he says.

"Look, I don't really want to know details, okay?" she says. "Like you said before, it's none of my business, and I'm sorry I looked. It was private."

"Yes, it was private." He shoots her a glare. "But you did look, and it's done now, so I wanted to make something clear. There's... not a girl, okay?"

Maka sits straight up. "Then why are you reading about, you know, that?"

He wheezes out a laugh. "I don't know, because I think it's probably good knowledge to have? I'd think you could relate to that."

"I guess," she shrugs. "So there's not a particular girl, then?"

There it is again -- that slight openness on his face, the widening of his pupils. The reddish tip of his tongue peeks through his parted lips before he looks away.

"Not really," he says. He steels himself for a moment before he adds, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," she answers automatically even as she thinks _please don't let it be a request for advice._

He scratches the hair at his temple and shuffles closer. "Does it sound like something you'd like?" The second the words are out of his mouth, he bites his tongue and scrunches up his face.

Maka's pretty sure her eyebrows have disappeared into her hairline. "Are you asking me if I think I'd enjoy oral sex?"

"Never mind, pretend I didn't ask. Stupid." She's not sure if he's calling her stupid or calling himself stupid.

He turns to leave and she says warningly, "Soul."

His back stiffens and he turns back to her, cheeks tinged barely-there pink. "Yes, okay, yes. I'm asking if the idea of a guy going down on you is remotely appealing."

For a while, all she can really do is gasp like an fish out of water because the words _going down on you_ coming out of Soul's mouth are doing truly unkind things to her psyche. He's starting to leave again when she finally squeaks out a "yes."

"Yeah?" The look of surprise on his face is one for the record books and he swallows. "Because, I mean, I've been reading up. If you're interested."

The openness is back and the air in her room suddenly feels ten degrees hotter. Neither of them breaks their gaze this time.

Finally, she whispers, "Okay."

Then he's scrambling for her bed like he thinks she'll take it back if he doesn't move fast enough, and his hands are shaking on her shoulders as he gently pushes her toward her pillows, his face inches from hers. Did she fall asleep? Is this one of those dreams she has sometimes? What's happening?

"Just lie back," he says, and his voice sounds like it's coming through restricted air space, like his windpipe is tightening around his vocal chords.

A light clicks on somewhere in her head and with stunning clarity she recognizes the look in his eye. Without another thought, she leans her head forward and their mouths collide. He makes a "huh" sound and then he's responding, his mouth pushing back against hers, hands tightening on her shoulders.

They break and blink at each other in stupefied silence until she says, "I thought maybe we should start there."

"The book might have said something about that," he breathes. Then he presses another kiss to her mouth, soft and exploratory. He brushes their noses together and says, "Lie back, okay?"

She does, reclining against her pillows while he shifts and maneuvers himself down the bed, his hand pushing her shirt up her torso and leaving a warm trail everywhere it touches. Hesitantly, he watches her face and leans down to kiss her belly.  She sucks her breath in, not used to such gentle touches there. Then he's at her navel, then below her navel, then she feels the wet heat of his tongue on her hipbone.

Her knees are starting to wobble. He notices and looks up.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks.

"No," she says. "Not even a little bit."

It takes him a bit to find the zipper on her skirt, but he does and carefully pulls it down and away. His fingers hesitate against the elastic of her underwear. At least they're black, she thinks, even if they're black cotton.

"Do _you_ want to stop?" she asks, voice embarrassingly breathy.

"Not even a little bit," he says, showing her a half grin as her underwear follow the path her skirt forged. She can feel air on her exposed skin and her lungs heave, trying to force in more oxygen. Everything's going a little fuzzy. Everything but Soul.

Soul, who is now positioned between her knees.

"Here goes," he says. "You can grade me later."

His head goes down and hers rolls back, and then there's a warm wet flick and her body sparks like mad. She watches the slender fingers of his hands wrap around her thighs, his messy mop of white hair moving at her most private place, and overwhelming arousal courses through her because wow, it's hot. It's very hot.

There's another flick and her voice escapes her. He's teasing, testing. She can't predict when the next will come, and it makes the thrill of anticipation sing in her veins. And then, out of nowhere, the heat increases exponentially because his entire tongue is resting against as much of her as it can reach, which is a considerable lot, it turns out. He doesn't move it, just lets it sit, warming her and building the tension.

Then he draws it up and finishes with a swirl around her clit and her thighs give an involuntary shake and she decides she's writing the author of that book a giant thank you letter. Automatically, she reaches down to grasp his hair in her twining fingers and he makes unbearably sexy noises against her heated skin.

His techniques vary, which makes every minute a surprise. Sometimes there are circles, sometimes there are taps, sometimes he's low, sometimes he's high. Every now and again he laps at her opening, which is an entirely different sensation. Once he's reduced her to a panting, mewling mess, he focuses on her swollen, aching clit and she can feel her tension starting to reach its crescendo.

"Soul," she gasps out, and she feels him stutter and slow in his movements for a split second before he resumes with vigor, his rhythm steady. "Soul, I'm... I think I'm... oh gods, don't stop, please don't stop!"

Her weapon, her partner, is always one to mind her when it counts. The coil in her grows white-hot, tightening and mounting and peaking. She wants to tell him she's coming, to call out her rapture, but her mouth is the vacuum of space and there's no sound. Then everything is shivering and she plunges down and through, bursting out the other side.

It seems to catch him by surprise and he makes a muffled noise that sounds like "ohshit" against her down there, working his mouth with the roll of her hips, and finally she can manage to moan out her pleasure as the pulses stretch out and lessen.

While she sits there breathing and trying to put her brain back together, he taps on her leg. "You have to let me go," he laughs against the crease of her thigh, sending another shiver through her.

"Right, sorry," she says, forcing her legs apart from either side of his head and loosening her fingers from his hair.

When he's free, he doesn't move so much as shift higher so he can rest his chin against her stomach, eyes downcast and a slight, pleased smile quirking his mouth. He flicks his eyes up to meet hers.

"How'd I do?" he asks.

"You retained your knowledge very well," she says, lolling back into her pillows. "That was... something else."

"Something good?" he prods.

"Something great," she answers.

His hand slides up over her bare hip to rest against her side, the pads of his fingers putting bits of pressure there. The smile softens as he looks up at her.

"I might have lied a little," he says. "About there not being a girl."

Maka's heart leaps, because surely he can't mean... was she a guinea pig? But no, that can't be right. Not if she goes by the way he's looking at her.

Unfortunately the front door slams and Soul jerks and rolls off of her and directly onto the floor, his head popping up as he shakes it out.

"My skirt," Maka squeaks, and he finds it and her underwear and shoves them at her. She manages to get them on just as Blair calls out that dinner's served.

They shuffle out of her room like nothing ever happened and sit to eat their meal. Blair titters on about this and that and they give her noncommittal answers. Every now and again, Maka watches Soul eat, her face heating at the memory of where that mouth has been. He catches her looking, once, and gives her a barely-there smile.

They maintain their unspoken agreement not to discuss the incident for several days. At least until the day Maka gets home, checks for Blair, and then marches straight back to his room to kick the door open.

"What-" he jumps and turns in his desk chair, looking at her with furrowed brows as he pulls off his headphones.

She stomps over and drops a book on his desk. After he's sure she isn't going to kick _him_ as well, he glances down at it and registers a half-peeled banana along with the title _He Comes Next._

He has only seconds to wear his crooked grin before she's kissing it away from him.


	10. Old Boxes and Short Skirts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh hi, been a while. I haven’t had much writing time, alas. I missed NSFW week, so here’s a drabble to make up for it? Because why not. Enjoy!
> 
> NSFW and 18+ for sexytimes and some very light roleplay kink.

"Look what I found."

Soul's sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, his legs stretched in front of him as he sorts through old records and organizes his music sheets. He feels the slight twinge of annoyance he often gets when someone interrupts him when he's in a groove, but when he raises his lazy eyes to see Maka enter the room, that annoyance dissipates.

The door squeaks a little as it swings open. She's framed in its place, her nose crinkling as she grins and twists twin pigtails around her hands. His breath catches and it's like he's thirteen again, feelings and heat and tingles and _feelings_ roiling into a molten ball in the center of his gut.

"I can't believe you still fit in that stuff," he drawls, his voice belying how literally-hot-under-the-collar he suddenly feels.

She twirls into the room, which doesn't do much for the teeny tiny red plaid skirt barely covering her ass. She even put on the tie and the sweater vest, though they're much... tighter than he remembers. Maka never did grow what he'd refer to as full-on _curves_ , but there's enough there that she couldn't quite comfortably button the top buttons of her shirt, so it hangs open, her tie loose and dangling in front of creamy skin.

That's okay. That's fine.

She stops twirling, clasping her hands behind her back and leaning forward with a smile, like she used to. The effect is much different now.

"I don't know if I'd say it _fits_ , but I can get it on," she says.

Soul very casually crosses his legs at the ankles and puts the record he's holding on the floor, cool as can be. Cool as one can be while attempting to hide a rapidly rising boner, anyway.

"No shoes?" he asks, glancing down at her bare feet. Her toenails are painted pastel yellow, which is a new development. Probably courtesy of Liz. He kind of likes it. Cute color against the battered feet of a warrior. It works.

Now she pouts, her lower lip protruding a bit. "Those definitely don't fit anymore. Sad. I loved those boots."

A slow grin raises one corner of his mouth. "Me too."

She skips closer, hands still behind her back, and leans forward. "Whatcha working on?"

Her tie dangles in front of him, teasing, and he's extremely tempted to twist it around his wrist, pull her down to him, kiss her senseless. But he doesn't. For now, he's more interested the slight-but-enticing cleavage at his eye level.

He shrugs. "Nothing important."

"Hm," she hums, bending farther forward to pick up the pen he uses to jot stray notes when they come to him. She straightens, tapping the pen against her lip like she used to in class. "Well, I'm going to go back upstairs so I can keep sorting through our old stuff. I'll let you know if I find anything else."

Her grip on the pen is loose, and one extra-strong flick is enough to send it flying out of her grasp and onto the floor behind her.

"Whoops," she says, her eyes following it as it bounces and rolls over beneath his desk chair. "I'll get it."

She does, walking over to his desk and placing a hand on it to balance herself -- unnecessarily, her balance is impeccable -- as she bends down, down, down to get the pen.

It's the cheesiest, most cliché thing she's ever done, maybe, but when he sees the flash of her white panties stretched taut against the skin underneath that skirt, he doesn't give a single flying fuck.

Because he's a kid again, confused and roiling, full of hormones and emotions he doesn't want to face, but he knows the rush of want and not-insignificant bite of shame that goes with catching that flash of white when his partner twists and twirls. This time, though, he can do something about it.

Maka barely has enough time to stand up again before he's on her, pressing against the length of her body from behind until her hips are pinned against his desk. The pen goes flying and she gasps, unable to hide her smile as he reaches around to rake his fingers over the skin of her midriff, exposed by her too-short top.

He bends forward to kiss and lick and bite at her neck, and it's so teenagery and pathetic of him, he knows, but he rubs himself against her ass through his jeans, full of tension and just wanting to feel a little of the relief that comes from dry humping your girlfriend. At least up to a certain point. A point that is rapidly approaching.

Soul backs up to give her enough space to turn around, scrambling so she can sit on the desk and pull him in close with those long, powerful legs. He gives into his desire from earlier and wraps her tie around his fingers, drawing her in. Her eyes are pure green, glassy with lust, and Jesus Fuck if she didn't know exactly what she was doing this whole time. She always does.

Their kiss is familiar, but so hungry, full of a scrambling need not unlike the first time, when they were younger and hot-blooded and practically ready to burst the second they touched. He had, in fact. It was fucking embarrassing. He'd gotten so much better, though.

He slides his hands underneath her thighs and bodily lifts her as she clings to him, her body a steely live wire, and they collapse together on the bed. She yanks off his shirt and he runs his palm up her outer thigh, under that teeny tiny skirt, and digs his fingers beneath the waistband of her underwear. He takes his time pulling them off, inch by inch, scraping along her thigh until she bucks and squeaks. Death, how many times did he imagine doing this? Too many.

She reaches down to the zipper at the side of her skirt and he stops her. "No way," he says. "Leave it on."

Maka smiles up at him as she reaches down to unfasten his jeans. He lets her, just until there's enough give to shove them down a bit, and then he flips her over. There's a moment of scrambling, cursing, and laughing as they move up on the mattress, then he helps her up onto her knees and she leans forward to grip the headboard, arching her back and humming, and _fuck_ , it's hot.

He pushes her skirt up over her hips, leaving her ass on full display, and bites his lip. Then he leans over her, his hands just outside hers on the headboard, and nibbles her ear as he lines himself up so he can drag over her folds. When they touch, finally, heat meeting heat, they both groan. It's a relief, but only a small one. She's slick, like she's been working up to this moment, which she probably has. She's probably been getting wetter and wetter since the second she pulled the outfit on.

Soul groans again, need pulsing through him from core outward, and he slides against her, teasing them both. Reaches around to cup her breast and squeeze.

"Soul, I swear to Death," she gasps, the implied threat almost lost in the breathiness of her voice.

He reaches between his legs to steady his cock, guiding it until it catches at her opening, and pushes inside. She arches her back still more and releases a moaning sigh he can feel as it vibrates through her. It's almost too much. Almost. But hell if he's not going to enjoy this to the fullest.

She shoves her weight back against him, using the headboard for leverage, and he curls over her, rolling his hips in time, finding a steady rhythm. One hand over hers on the headboard, the other braced against her hip with every thrust. Her pigtails sway back and forth, and he wants to see her face, but not quite yet. Not until he knows she's good.

He shifts his weight to one side and slides the hand at her hip around and down between her legs, exploring until he feels hardness there. It's hard to work in slow circles when his entire body is coiled tight and begging to release, but he breathes in pants and manages. She shudders beneath him, her voice reaching that pitch where it sounds a little like she's crying, small gulps and almost-sobs.

Then she stills, her thighs shaking on either side of his hips, and melts beneath him. She goes hot and wet, muscles rippling in waves, her cries echoing in his ears, and it takes everything in him not to just blow it right there along with her.

But he wants... he wants...

She knows.

When the waves start to ebb, she nudges him back and he reluctantly slides from her. Maka turns, pulling him it for one more kiss, her tongue trailing along his lower lip, and then shoves him onto his back. The wind gets knocked out of him a bit, but he doesn't mind.

She crawls along his body, her pigtails tickling his abdomen in the most delicious way, and then she's straddling him, sinking down. Her eyelids flutter and she sighs, and then she's riding him, curling her hair around her fingers and bouncing. _Bouncing_.

He wraps his hands around her hips, gripping her tight and helping her move, because dear gods this is every fantasy he ever had about her when he still thought there was no way it would ever happen and he's going to fucking lose it. He's going to lose it so fast.

"Oh Soul," she cries. "Oh Soul, oh Soul!"

And Christ, it's so _porny_ , but his early-teen self was embarrassingly into porny, so it's working alarmingly well. Only because it's her, in that outfit.

Only because he knows her and loves her.

So with his schoolboy crush and current girlfriend bouncing up and down on his dick like something on RedTube, he throws his head back and comes, groaning out her name as he raises his hips up to meet her while she slows and lets him ride it out.

After, when she's rolled off and they've cleaned up, she throws a leg over him and they stare up at the ceiling, breathing.

"I'm probably not going to do that again, just so you know," she says, a laugh under her words. "It was so embarrassing."

His eyes are still kind of unfocused and the grin hasn't left his face. "I'm okay with that." He taps his forehead with a finger. "Stored it on the hard drive."

She snuggles up against his side.

"You find any of my old stuff up there?" he asks. "Maybe I can return the favor sometime."

"Gods," she says. "Please don't subject me to that headband again. It won't have the same effect, I can tell you that already."

He presses a kiss against her forehead.

"Fair."


End file.
